


You Never Should Have Left

by KAL (JadeElite)



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Best Friends, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-06 19:17:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15201623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeElite/pseuds/KAL
Summary: Request from tumblr as part of my 9 days of Norman; Murphy MacManus x Reader reunion after many years childhood friends who fall in love ❤️The boys return to their hometown to hide out, and an old friend is rather upset they didn't come to see them.





	1. Chapter 1

            It started out as a whisper, a rumor amongst the town. You didn’t believe it, couldn’t at first. That old cottage outside of town, the abandoned shepherd's place, it’s owner had come home at last. But it was not that the man himself had returned you could not believe, but who he brought with him.

            Then you saw the news. Significant events in America can end up all over the world, can even make their way to your little hamlet in no-where Ireland. It just takes a while. Your parent’s television was more than a little fuzzy, but when the sketch artist depiction of these Saints murders appeared on that static screen, you knew with certainty; the boys had come home.

            Their mother kept a house in town, the cottage being part of a family farm she never took the business in caring for. That house is where the boys grew up, their Ma stood on the front porch and waved her boys off to school every day, half cussing them out for not finishing their breakfast, but if they really are on the lam, they couldn’t just go about town.

            That old sheep farm would be the perfect place to be hiding. Bless their mother’s heart for not spreading it around that they are back. When you lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, your best friend’s face flickers across your eyes. Although you’d gotten along well with both of the boys, it was Murphy who spent every single day after school with you, catching frogs and pulling pranks on the poor townsfolk. Connor almost seemed jealous of you at times for how much his twin spent with you.

            Suddenly you can’t take it anymore, your entire body is tingling, your heart is racing. You’d spent the day reading every letter he sent you while he was in America, looking through the photos your mother had taken of you and the boys and saved so carefully. Your Mother loved photography, had she the upbringing to allow it she might have become one of those photographers that get their pictures in books and magazines. She cuts out beautiful images from National Geographics that she grabs on her occasional visits to the city. The house is covered in collages of them, mixed in with photos of your family. The one she had made of you and Murphy as children struck something in your heart, a realization of how lonely you have been since he left. No matter how hard you tried you could never make a friend like him, nobody even tried to understand you the way that he did.

            You lurch from your bed, energy filling you. You’re out the bedroom door and down the stairs before you have the chance to change your mind. Your father glances up from where he sits on the couch, reading. You catch his raised eyebrow look, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s not uncommon for you to have sudden outbursts that required a nighttime ride. Although he’d prefer you tell him where you are going when you disappear at night, he respects that you are a grown woman.

            You’re out and to the garage as quickly as your legs will carry you. There’s a resistance when you try to lift the door to the building, but it does not stop you.

            When Connor and Murphy were teens, they saved up together and bought a motorcycle, which Murphy happily taught you how to ride. When they left, and you still don’t understand why they went, they couldn’t take it with them, so to your care, it was passed.

            You throw your leg over the vehicle, twisting the key and feeling a shiver up your spine when it roars into life. A few lights in the other houses turn on at the sound, but many of your neighbors have accustomed themselves to the racket, and so their lights remain off.

            The wind in your hair as you ride helmetless down the dark streets is a taste of freedom. Your destination is, in fact, a commonly visited location on your night rides, there are many spots outside the town you take yourself to clear your head or to fill it, but this would be the first time there would be occupants at the shepherd’s cottage.

            In the summers, when you and the boys were freed from the toll of school the three of you would go to that family farm. So long as their mother was not having them spend the day on her extracurriculars (she saw the intelligence in her boys, and refused to let it go to waste, she gathered up all the books on languages and maths and sciences that she could find.) You’d watch their grandparents herding the sheep, set off firecrackers in the meadow, and build forts in the treelines. Connor and Murphy had one fort, and you another, but Connor didn’t know that Murphy was a double agent working for you to sabotage his brother’s defenses.

            In the winters you’d build snowmen and snow sheep. The forts of sticks were reinforced with snow and ice. Wars of snowballs began, but neither of them had the heart to wallop you, despite you hurling projectiles with rocks hidden in them, sending them home with bruises and dumb grins.

            You don’t realize how cold out it is until you pull to a stop, that cottage sitting in the distance like the entrance to a dungeon, lights down, dark and foreboding looking. Your heart sinks while goosebumps crawl up your thighs, maybe you were wrong. Rumors are never something to take stock in. Why would they come here of all places to hide from the police. They wanted to escape this boring, humdrum life of a hamlet in the middle of nowhere Ireland.

            Then your heart jumps from where it sank, right into your throat, and you choke up as the lights of the cottage come on, occupants likely awakened by the sound of the motorcycle. A sudden moment of clear thinking causes you to realize you don’t even know what to do, to say. You shiver.

            “MURPHY MAC-FUCKING-MANUS.” You holler, exerting more lung power that you have ever in your life. “GIT YOUR SORRY ARSE OUT HERE. YOU OWE ME A GOD DAMN EXPLANATION.”

            The entire world goes silent, trembling beneath the anger that is flushing your system. Chirping crickets are cut off, rustlings in the leaves go still.

            You suddenly realize there are hot tears in your eyes, and you try to wipe them away, but they keep coming. After several minutes, the front door slowly creaks open. Something inside you shifts when you see Murphy poking his head out, it had been so many years, he’s older now, changed, something has changed. Now you’re choking up as you see the shock in his face, before opening the door entirely and taking a few steps towards you. His mouth works like he’s trying to say something but can’t find the words.

Connor looks out from behind him and visibly relaxes. “Scared the shite out of us ya did lass!” He calls out. “Ain’t it a bit late to come calling on us, couldn’t this’ve waited till the morn?”

You don’t respond, wholly enraptured by Murphy as he walks down the path towards you. There’s something inside you that tugs at your heart and you know exactly what it is but can’t bear to acknowledge it.

Murphy has made it halfway to you, to the edge of the high beams on the bike, when your feet start moving. It’s a dead sprint, as fast as your poor legs can carry you. He doesn’t hesitate to open his arms as you come barreling into him, expecting the hug. But what he doesn’t expect, you don’t even expect until you’ve already done it, is that you grab him by the collar, pulling him down and crashing your lips onto his.

Everything inside you is going crazy, all the emotions are going at once, pouring out all at once and you don’t know what you’re doing. All you know is you don’t ever want your best friend to leave again


	2. Chapter 2

            “Why didn’ come see me!?” You’re gripping Murphy’s collar, tears in your eyes. “You couldn’ call? Couldn’ send a god damn note?!” You raise one hand and curl it into a fist, coming down on his chest in anger, sniffling a bit like a baby as you do so. “I thought I was your friend. I thought I was your best friend. But you can’t send me a goddamn note to tell me you’ve come home?!!”

            Murphy’s eyes are wide, shining like pale sapphires in the headlight of the motorbike. They are averted, looking at something invisible on your left. This infuriates you even further.

            “Lookit me when I’m talkin’ to ya, Murph!”

            His voice is like some lost song, a half-remembered lullaby from your childhood. “Out of respect fer ya Honeybee, gonna have to refuse tat request.” You once decided to go collect honey from the wild bees, only to end up sticking your hand in a wasps nest. The name has held ever since.

            The wind picks up, and with its cold touch against your skin, heat rises to your cheeks. Your parents were always warning you to at least put some decent clothes on before going on a night ride. But impulsive actions are not commonly preceded by rational decisions. Your thin shift blows in the breeze, barely reaching mid-thigh. The heat of blush grows greater as you look down to realize that with the bright light of the bike upon you, and the white fabric dampened with sweat, it’s become nearly transparent. Hell, you can make out the outline of your knickers.

            You clear your throat. “May I come in… and borrow something to wear?”

            Scurrying inside leads you to find Connor and an older, unfamiliar man. Both have a somewhat bemused expression, although they are respectful enough to pretend to be distracted by something on the ceiling. Murphy takes it upon himself to walk to the bike up towards the house for you.

            “Long time no see Bee.” Conner rubs the back of his head. “Sorry, we didn’ call on ya, been a bit preoccupied.” He’s in nothing more than his boxers and a thick robe, you take a glance over him before averting your eyes. Was that how Murphy was dressed? You hadn’t even noticed, you were too wrapped up in his eyes, so stuck in your anger you didn’t even realize what was going on.

            “Did you need a sweater or somethin’ lass?” The other man says, and upon closer inspection of him, you recognize him from those old photos in Mrs. Macmanus’ house, the father of the boys.

            “I’d appreciate it…”

            By the time Murphy has gotten into the house, you’re sitting at their kitchen table wrapped up in a green and gray sweater. Connor has gotten a shirt and some pants on, he throws a set to his brother. He is indeed wearing only boxers and a robe. His face is bright red, and those eyes still won’t look at you. It breaks your heart, you want him to see you, to smile at you.

            Their father catches your attention as he sets a cup of hot tea in front of you. “Drink up, don’ want you catchin’ cold now.” There is something completely and utterly terrifying about the man, it’s in his eyes, they’ve seen things you couldn’t even begin to imagine. His voice though is soothing, deep and calm.

            “ ‘m sorry fer all this.” You look down at the tea. “Have a bad habit with impulses. When I heard Murph and Connor had come back I…” The skin of your lip breaks under your teeth; chapped already from your midnight bike ride. “But comin’ in the middle of the night… ain’t right.”

            “Don’ worry bout it lass, impulses can get the best of us, especially when people we love are concerned.” The elder man sits at the end of the table, watching you.

            “Love?!” You squeak, blushing again, then picking up your tea and sipping it to try and keep yourself from saying anything stupid.

            “Ya know I always knew you cared about Murphy, certainly a lot more than you did me.” Connor chuckles. “But somehow I missed that you have feelings for him.”

            “It’s not…” You start to stammer, eyes flicking between the father and the son. “I don’… I mean it’s not like that!” When you look at Murphy as you say this, his eyes suddenly go sad, disappointment crosses his features.

            “Really now? Could have fooled me.” Mr. Macmanus claims. “Way you show up in the middle of the night, run up and kiss the boy? If Connor hadn’t been tellin’ me you were friends, I would have thought otherwise.”

            The memory of that kiss suddenly comes down upon you like a stampede of elephants. What were you doing? You’d acted so quickly, on impulse as you always do. This is why you have to think before you move.

            “I mean I… I don’t know what came over me,” you brush hair out of your eyes, “I couldn’ sleep… and I came ‘ere… I don’t even tink I had a plan… and then I saw Murph and… I don’t know…” Why are they looking at you like that? Connor’s got a shit-eating grin, his dad seems like he knows something and won’t say it.

            Murphy still won’t look you in the eye. “I missed ya Honeybee… and when I saw ya… I… wanted to do the same… you just beat me to it.”

            Your heart is racing, mouth desperately working to form words.

            Connor chuckles. “Maybe the two of you left something unsaid before we left?” He claps his brother on the shoulder. “I mean if yer first instincts were to kiss each other then there might be some feelings there you two need to talk about.”


End file.
